


the feather and the thread

by cirque



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Childbirth, Family, Female Friendship, POV Female Character, Sisters, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greece is a land of women now. They are soldiers themselves; a sisterhood of women making ambrosia out of gruel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the feather and the thread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/gifts).



> For Betony, who wanted to see the Spartan princesses together. While this story is not mostly about their childhood, they are together; I wanted to show them overcoming adversity and banding together, a sisterhood of superlatives indeed. I desperately wanted more Helen in this, but I couldn't make her fit.
> 
> (glossary of Greek words at the end)

**CAST OF CHARACTERS**

Clytemnestra, Queen of Mycenae, and her children Orestes, Electra and Chrysothemis

Helen of Sparta

Penelope, wife of Odysseus, Telemachus her son, and Ipthime her sister

Anaxibia, sister of Agammemnon, Queen of Phocis, and Pylades her son

Hermione, daughter of Helen and Menelaus

Phoebe, youngest sister of Clytemnestra and Helen 

 

* * *

 

When Clytemnestra and Helen were still small, Penelope caught a frog.

The Euratos was rife with them, little spiny-legged things that Timandra, as serious as Zeus, had threatened to eat. Clytemnestra and Helen had tried to catch one, but it was Penelope who emerged victorious from the muddy water, fist held aloft and howling Artemis' name. 

"τοτοτοì ῖ!" They crowed, and Penelope cradled the creature to her sodden chest as it strained to be free of her.

Helen touched its back carefully. "Why are you trying to be free, βάτραχος?"

Penelope scowled. "He feels weird. Maybe he's ashamed."

Clytemnestra dragged her feet out of the heavy water. The frog lurched again and Penelope held it closer.

Helen gasped. "Shh, βάτραχος. We're trying to help."

"I don't think Timandra will eat him if we leave him here." Clytemnestra said, regarding the dirty water line across the waist of her white dress.

Helen looked doubtful. "She said she would."

Penelope sighed, and the frog wriggled again. It slipped from her grasp and hopped gleefully back into the murky water. "Ugh," she said,  "Timandra is welcome to him."

Helen chased after him. "Be safe βάτραχος!"

"I'm sorry Helen, I tried." Penelope sat on the damp river bank, tugging her fingers through her greening hair. Her father would not be happy. He chastized her daily about the trouble she followed Clytemnestra and Helen into. He gripped her elbow and told her Ipthime was a model Princess, told her thirteen was much too old to still be playing with her Spartan cousins, told her she was breaking her mother's heart. He made engagements with Kings whose sons she could not stand the sight of, and did not care that she seethed. 

What Icarius did not know, what Penelope would never tell him, was that she followed them willingly, through mud and gold, the sands of Sparta were their playground and though they were bronzed with divine blood, she had played with them since infancy. Princesses had their own allegiances and Penelope would not forsake theirs, regardless of how much it vexed her father. 

* * *

Penelope's baby is born two days after Iphigenia dies. It is a boy. They name him Telemachus.

"He is beautiful, _φίλτατε_." Clytemnestra says, her voice hushed like they are dispensing secrets. They have swapped babies; she cradles the swaddled newborn while Penelope balances Orestes on her knee. He is bored and wants to walk, and he arches his back with a wail not befitting a prince.

"He is the true love of my life," says Penelope, handling Orestes with skill. She will be a good mother, Clytemnestra is sure. "I only wish Odysseus could spend longer with him. We will miss him so."

"They'll return with haste. You know my sister; we'll be hearing her stories of Troy come midsummer." Clytemnestra is not counting on seeing Agammemnon so soon. She focuses on the newborn, his round face, and it hurts, though she wants to be pleased for Penelope. She twitches her feet; uneasy. The tent in which they sit is well ventilated but Aulis grit gets everywhere, sand in between her toes even as she shakes them.

 ***

Clytemnestra waits five more days before journeying home. Orestes learns a new word, yelling " _απαγε_ " to anyone close enough to listen. Penelope comes with her, because neither of them wants to sit alone waiting to become widows. The house is much as she left it, quiet and welcoming and smelling of honey. Phoebe seems a lifeage older, asking for Helen, crying out in shame at odd moments, and it is all Clytemnestra can do to refrain from sending her youngest sister away from the house. She was young too once, she need only remember.

Clytemnestra sends for her daughters, briefly, and they are sullen little things now, their rosy cheeks long gone, as she tells them what has become of their sister. They wring their hands and wait to be dismissed, taking Orestes with them, and Clytemnestra is blessed glad she does not have to look at him, at those arched dark eyes and that Atreidae jawline she had once treasured in her husband. She imagines Tantalus with his hands on her son, and sighs, for it will be a long war.

Anaxibia travels to Mycenae within the week, taking charge of her husband's estates because Strophius too has left for Troy. Greece is a land of women now, Clytemnestra thinks, as she watches her sister-in-law drive the horses across the plain, into the open courtyard whereupon she slides from the carriage, majesty and grace as her skirts fall behind her.

"Sister," she greets, her arms wide as she hands the horse gear to the attendants.

Clytemnestra kisses her husband's sister, for she bears this woman no ill will and has always been fond of her. They hug, and Clytemnestra feels the swell of her belly against her. She had not known Anaxibia was pregnant again so soon.

They part, and Clytemnestra moves to greet Hermione, slipping from the carriage behind her aunt, Pylades secured to her hip with soft leather wrappings. It has been several weeks since she agreed to care for the girl, but Clytemnestra has not yet seen her since Helen left. She is sallow and glum, shamed in the streets, and Clytemnestra touches her face, Helen's face, avian beauty and pewter eyes.

"You may share with Chrysothemis, she has given you her goose blanket."

Hermione nods, and looks to the handmaids who carry her sparse possessions.

"You can show them to your new room Hermione," Clytemnestra says. "They may room with Chrysothemis's maids, there is plenty of space."

Hermione curtseys once to both her aunts, and leads the way into the house, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the baby's back.

Anaxibia takes Clytemnestra's arm as they enter the house. "Tell me all you know of Achilles."

 ***

High summer comes and stays, it brings the flowers in the courtyard which the girls love to pick, crouching in the akoniton, anemone arrows in their hair, and there are more than enough almonds to go around. She teaches the girls to soak and crush them into milk, and they eat soaked wheat before bed. Orestes surpasses walking and begins to run, and he is an unstoppable horror who ceases his mischief only to sleep.

They spend their evenings barefoot in the courtyard, and it has always been Clytemnestra's favourite time of year. Ipthime visits to hold her nephew aloft, and they watch his tiny bronze toes wriggle in the dusk light.

"He looks like his father." Ipthime says. The baby has Odysseus's round eyes, his cowlick at the back of his head, Odysseus's strong hands as he latches on to Ipthime's finger. He looks nothing at all like Pylades or Orestes; Clytemnestra often forgets they are related.

"What world will they live in, I wonder?" Clytemnestra keeps her voice low, mindful of Chrysothemis curled in her lap. "What quests will they complete?"

"A peaceful world, I should hope." Anaxibia says.

Hermione crawls towards them, sitting against Penelope's legs. Her knees are red from playing in the sand. "Electra is asleep, in the bushes."

The women turn to where they can see Electra's skirts peeking through a gap in the plants. Wild thing, Agammemnon had called her, chucking her chin.

Penelope twirls Hermione's hair absently. "I have hope that this war will be over soon, before these boys are able to miss their fathers."

"Trust in Athene," says Hermione, "To bring our fathers home. And _μαμμία_ , too." She hides her face in Penelope's shin and they fall silent, briefly, until Phoebe glides towards them from the house to carry the children to bed. She wakes Electra up, who grumbles, her eyes dark and narrow, and refuses to carry a younger child inside, just shuffles inside with her arms folded tight across her chest.

 ***

The summer winds down and the blossoms on the ground turn crispy and stick to their feet, but the war stretches on, news ceases to filter back to Argos, and Clytemnestra finds she does not mind it so much. They are soldiers themselves; a sisterhood of women making ambrosia out of gruel.

Anaxibia runs a fever, hot to the touch, and her baby is born one windy afternoon, the windows thrown open wide, Anaxibia roiling on the blanketed floor, clutching Penelope's arms, cursing the house of Phocis.

"Would that Ares strikes him down!" She howls, hitting away Phoebe as the girl drags a wet rag over her forehead. "Would that Hades curses Strophius to an eternity of torment!"

Phoebe gasps. "Oh! You don't mean that!"

Clytemnestra regards the welts on Penelope's arms. "I think she does."

Anaxibia grabs a handful of Phoebe's robes. "Never marry. Pledge yourself to Artemis. Never marry." Phoebe gets tears in her eyes as Anaxibia growls again, yelling to the heavens, but Clytemnestra urges her on. She can see the baby's head, a velvety show of blonde hair.

She yells "Once more!", and Penelope sighs in relief.

Anaxibia switches from cursing Strophius to pleading for him, and buries her head in her chest as she pushes mightily, her battlecry echoing right down to Clytemnestra's toes, and Penelope cries too, and Phoebe closes her eyes, and the baby, angry and red, comes tumbling into the world.

"It's a girl!" Phoebe cries. "A little Amazonian!"

"Thank goodness." Anaxibia sighs, and touches her daughter's forehead before leaning back on Penelope's knees.

Phoebe stands up, wringing her hands, while a maid comes forward to wrap the baby in soft cloths, fluffing up her blonde hair. She looks an utter reflection of Pylades as an infant, and Clytemnestra says as much as she presses the baby into Anaxibia's waiting arms.

"I could have razed Troy to the ground myself just then," she whispers, "I could have dragged our husbands back with my bare hands."

Clytemnestra smiles, and kisses her sister-in-law's flushed cheeks. "Let us keep our peace and quiet for now."

She steps out onto the dais outside, underneath a stone canopy crawling with vinca blossoms. She watches the unveiled stars and gives thanks to whomever is listening that all went well. Penelope, silent and calm, presses against her arm with a smile.

"Do you remember when Phoebe was born?" Clytemnestra says.

Penelope laughs. "Of course. Helen and I snuck in to watch. My mother was livid, and you went red with envy."

"And poor Helen, she had night terrors for so long, and she wouldn't even hold Phoebe!"

"I think it was too much for her."

"She was such a precocious little thing."

"Was?"

Clytemnestra sighed. "Is. I want her home terribly." She plucks an indigo vinca blossom from the wall, twirls it around her fingers like a Neried dancing. "We have lost so much already. I pray Zeus will have mercy on Helen at least."

Penelope dances her fingers up Clytemnestra's arm, smoothes her dark hair behind her ears. "I know you do not have much faith in Agammemnon, but trust Odysseus, please."

Clytemnestra nods, but cannot answer, and turns to find Electra watching them from behind.

"Is the baby here?" asks the girl.

"Yes. A little princess." Clytemnestra steps closer to her daughter, touches her chin and thinks of Iphigenia, of Pelops with his ivory shoulder, and a curse of men and the women who orbit them. "Smile _γαπητή_ . We are happy today."

* * *

 

The purpling sun is low in the sky when Helen turns to Penelope. She reaches out across the space between their chairs to press their wrinkled hands together, knuckles on knuckles. "Are you awake?"

Penelope stirs, and the edgy breeze lifts up the faded wisps of her hair. "Yes."

Helen sighs. "I thought you had fallen asleep."

"I almost did. It's peaceful out here."

"Yes." Helen smiles and rearranges the sheep wool blanket across her knees. She looks up and the stars prickle back and she could almost, _almost_ , be in Troy. "Tell me a story Penelope."

Penelope laughs, and it's a throaty laugh that threatens to become a cough. "You haven't asked for a story in many years."

Helen laughs with her. It hurts her ribs and deeper but she cannot stop it. "You tell the best stories."

"I do... What would you like to hear about?"

"Tell me about the time a hundred men tried to marry you and you held them off with embroidery."

Penelope wheezes and clutches her stomach in laughter. "I don't get half as many propositions these days."

"Nor do I." Helen has her beauty still but not her youth; her eyes are pale and lost in wrinkles and her bones hurt to move, and the only prince she holds in her arms is her grandson, but she is graceful and kind. She sighs, long and low, into the wind. 

"I can barely remember the story," says Penelope, "It was terribly long ago."

"It was. So much of our lives is forgotten now."

"They called you the most beautiful woman in the world."

"I know," Helen chuckles, "But they never saw me with honey on my face, up to my knees in wet sand, crying because you wouldn't share your toys."

Penelope shakes her head, and there's something sad in it, something Helen cannot quite place. "No. They never did."

**Author's Note:**

> τοτοτοì ῖ- oh wow!  
> βάτραχος - frog  
> φίλτατε - dearest (masc.)  
> απαγε - go away  
> μαμμία - mommy  
> γαπητή - darling
> 
> ____
> 
> You should know that my autocorrect decided to switch 'Icarius' to 'iCarly'. I didn't catch it until 2 hours before reveals. I couldn't handle what might have happened if I'd never caught it.


End file.
